Phone Calls
by Sprite91360
Summary: Various phone calls on Eliot's phone. I'll publish as the calls come in.
1. Maggie

Phone Calls

By: Sprite

Random calls on Eliot's Phone.

For Cat.

All the errors all mine. All the inspiration comes from the team at Leverage.

He fumbled the keys to his apartment, nearly dropping them twice. So tired he could barely see he unlocked the door more from practice than skill. He was hungry, but way too tired to eat, so he grabbed a handful of nuts from the jar on the counter and two bags of ice and headed for the bedroom. He finished the nuts, sat on the edge of the bed, and balanced one ice pack on each knee as he reached down to untie the laces of his boots. He was seeing spots before his eyes as he sat up. He stripped off his clothes, wishing for a shower he was way too tired to actually take, he slipped under the sheets. Letting out a contented sigh as he relaxed back against the soft cotton, balanced one ice pack on his left shoulder, and one on his right elbow and let his eyes drift closed. It had been a long couple of days. The room was quiet. The drapes drawn, the air still and cool. The hum of the air conditioner. He didn't think, just slept.

The cell phone rang and vibrated and Eliot blinked open bloodshot eyes, and half fell out of bed reaching for his jeans, the phone still in the front pocket.

"Yeah," he snarled still trying to hoist himself back onto the mattress and not drop either the phone or the ice pack. One part of his brain told him he hadn't been asleep long since it was barely melted.

"Oh, hi, Adam. Did I wake you?"

Adam, Adam. Eliot's mind whirled. "Uh."

There was a nice laugh at the other end. "Or should I call you Eliot?"

"Maggie?"

"Hi. Did I wake you?"

"Uh, no. Yeah. It's okay." He slid up against the headboard. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." She sighed and gave a rueful chuckle. "I just had this dreadful date, and it made me think of my date with you, and you know, I thought I'd call."

He balanced the phone between his shoulder and his ear. "Dreadful?" He replaced the ice pack now that he knew she was okay. "How bad? Button cam bad?"

Her laugh was so full of fun it made him smile. "It was just so high school."

"Did he do the yawn and arm stretch?"

"Yes!"

He couldn't help but laugh.

"You're laughing at me." She didn't sound mad.

"No," he tried to smother the laugh. "Yes."

She giggled. Such a happy, cheerful sound.

They talked for about a half hour. She did most of the talking. He listened and smiled and encouraged her, but finally she wound down. "I should let you get back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you," she paused, "but I'm not sorry I called."

"You know, I'm not sorry you called either." He paused. "I hope you call again."

He went to sleep with a smile and slept for hours.

August 2011


	2. Airport

Eliot was just about to board a flight from Dallas/Ft Worth back to Boston when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number. The display said MMoA.

"Yeah?"

"Eliot?"

"Hi." Parker nudged him to move forward in line, instead he stepped out of line completely. She shot him a puzzled look, but he waved her on.

"Hi, where are you? Am I waking you up?"

"Nah, just about to fly out, but I've got a few minutes. What are you up to?"

"I'm authenticating a work of art."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, it's a Hellenistic battle warrior, and it's a fake, so I thought of you."

He chuckled and purposefully misunderstood. "You think I'm a fake warrior?"

She laughed. "Ha. No, I know you are the real McCoy."

"So what tipped you that it's fake?"

"It started with some techniques issues, and then some things under infrared, but you know. Just the job. What about you?"

"Me? You want to know what I'm doing?"

"Uh, no, forget I asked. I was going to ask where you were, but I guess I don't want to know that either."

Eliot chuckled. "Okay, can't talk about religion, politics, or work. What does that leave us?"

"Sex, drugs and rock and roll?"

He laughed. It just burst past his lips. He scowled at the one person looking at him, but it was halfhearted.

"How about food? What time zone are you in?" Eliot leaned with his back against the window. They were boarding the cheap seats now, he'd have to go soon.

"Eastern standard time. New York City."

"Okay, go to Martinique's on 108th St. Take a friend, if you have one in the city. Tell them Sebastian sent you. You won't order. They'll just bring you some great food. Let me know how it is."

"So I guess we aren't in the same time zone."

"Nah," he drawled, "but I wish I was."

"The food's that good, huh?"

He laughed and she laughed with him. "That's my boarding call. Gotta go. Call again if you want."

"I will."

LEVERAGE

August 2011


	3. Trains

"Yeah?"

"Eliot."

The connection wasn't good, but he could hear it was her. "Hey, what time zone are you in?"

"I have no idea. I'm on a train between St. Petersburg and Warszawa."

"Poland? Why not take a plane? Man, what a haul." He ordered his coffee sweet.

"Are you in Greece?"

"Nah, Greek cafe in New York."

"Speaking of: I loved Martinique's. I think I want the Brun's to adopt me."

He chuckled. "I told you they'd take care of you." He pointed to the dessert case and the waitress nodded.

"So, Sebastian," she said the name with a grin and he could hear the sarcasm in her voice. "What do you know about Russia?"

"The vodka is good, the mobs are bad, and it's hard to run in the snow."

She was laughing. "Russian Art. Art. Icons."

"Oh. I didn't hear you say art," he grumbled.

"I gathered. What do you know about 16th century icons?" Her tone was amused.

"It's easy to forge the wood. After the mid-17th century the west influenced the style. They like to work in copper. Not much else, why?"

"I'm working with a private collector. He wants to sell his art collection, in whole, and he's ..."

"Did the line cut out or are you looking for a nice way to say kook?"

"I would never say kook."

He didn't respond, just waited.

"He's an interesting character."

"Yeah."

"Anyway, there is this one piece. Carved from Ivory. It's of Michael."

"The warrior saint."

"You know him?"

"I read."

"You're right. I'm sorry. You're very good at getting people to underestimate you."

"It's what I do."

"Anyway. It's about the size of my palm. And the engraving is amazing. The details are just exquisite. I think this one piece alone is worth more than everything else this man has."

"Tell me about it."

And while he ate his pastry and drank his coffee, she described the piece. The connection got worse, static and an echo.

"There's going to be a check point soon. I guess I should get going."

"Remember, at border crossings, to have your papers ready and your running shoes on. Oh, that's just me."

She laughed. He was starting to love that laugh.


	4. Welcome Interruptions

The phone rang and Nate glared at him.

"What? I know people."

"Seriously? You didn't turn your phone off?" Nate shook his head.

"What? It's a meet, not a movie. I wasn't expecting a call."

The two thugs holding them at gun point looked at each other and grinned.

Eliot used that moment to charge forward and slam a shoulder into one bowling him into the other.

Nate dropped to his knee and tried to stay out of the way as Eliot did what he did best.

In seconds the men were down and disarmed. Eliot dropped the guns in the fish tank, the clips in the trashcan.

Nate stood up. "So, who was it?"

Eliot didn't look at the phone. "Dunno. If it's important, they'll call back."

"Aren't you going to check your voicemail?"

"Nobody but you and Hardison leaves a voice mail and Hardison is jabbering in my ear."

"I don't jabber. Jabber. Really. Who uses that word?"

Nate thought about it. It would bug him to distraction if he didn't know who had called. It didn't seem to even cross Eliot's mind to look. Interesting.


	5. Argentina

"Yeah?"

"Guess what?"

"I don't have a clue."

"The best fish and chips in the world are not in England."

"You lie," he laughed. "Where are they?"

"Argentina."

"Now I know you are lying. And I gotta ask. Why are you eating fish and chips in Argentina anyway? Why aren't you eating empanadas or, oh, I know a great place that serves Gnoquis de Semola a la Romana."

Maggie was laughing. "Wait, I'm writing that down. Okay, steer me."

He gave her directions.

"Wonderful. I think I can make it to La Plata before I leave Buenos Aires."

"So tell me about the fish and chip place."

"I was lost. You know, one of those cabbies that take you the long way around to get the bigger fare, but I got wise before I was too far from where I should be. Anyway, we dickered for a bit, and I knew I was only a few blocks from where I should be. It wasn't a bad neighborhood. So I got out to do a little shopping, hit the stores, see some local galleries, that sort of thing."

"Yeah."

"Oh, I found this piece. It's not an artifact, but… you'll laugh. I bought it for you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I'm going to leave it with the Brun's. Sebastian." The way she said that name, stretching out the a's made him smile.

"Okay."

"So anyway, I was lost, shopping, buying things and I broke the heel on my shoe. So I found a shoe repair place, and right next door is this English Pub."

"A pub?"

"Yeah run but a Brit ex-pat. Complete with dart boards and pints and football and cricket gear."

"No kidding." Maggie continued, "It was great. You have to get here someday." She gave him the address.

"I don't have any plans to be in Argentina any time soon."

"Neither did I. You never know, though, do you?"

"True enough."

"So, now I'm pool side in my hotel, drinking my cana and soaking my feet and then I'm going out to dinner and dancing and I plan to not get up before noon tomorrow."

"Sounds like a great time. You have a date?"

"Why? Are you in Argentina?"

He chuckled. "No, I just don't like the idea of you out at night, without an escort."

"Ohlala."

"Ha, Ha. You know what I mean."

"Yes. There are eight of us going out. I'll be fine."

"Okay, have a good time. Will you call me when you leave Argentina? Call me from the airport? So I know you're okay."

"Eliot Spencer, are you worried about me? I've been travelling the world since you were …"

"What? Come on. You're not that much older than me. And I started young, too."

"You're right. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Okay. But you'll call."

"Yes, mother." She laughed. "I'm leaving Saturday."

"Okay. I'll be waiting. All day. By the phone."

"Right, like I believe that. Good night, Eliot."

"Night Maggie."


	6. Bad Connection

"Yeah."

"Where are you? Right this minute?"

"You don't get to ask me questions like that, Maggie," Eliot growled.

"I'm asking. Answer me."

"No."

"Eliot." There was a long pause. "That was abrupt and … rude. May I ask what city you are in now?"

"Boston. Why?"

She sighed. "A Rembrandt was stolen off the wall of a gallery in California, in broad daylight. A guy just walked in and took it off the wall and walked out."

"And your first thought was me. Thanks." He cut off the call and didn't answer when it rang again.


	7. Art

"Yeah."

"Hi, it's me."

"Yeah."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"Who says I ever was."

"I was very rude last time."

"Yeah, well thinking I'd do a smash and grab kinda hurt."

There was a long silence. "Are you jerking my chain?"

"Just a little, yeah."

"Okay, I deserve it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. But why would you ask? What if I had done it? Then what?"

"I don't know. I didn't think that far ahead."

"Yeah."

"I'm authenticating a Hofmann. It's challenging. Abstracts aren't my best field."

"I gotta ask you something, Maggie."

She waited.

"Why do you call me and not Nate?"

The line crackled for a minute and he looked down at the display to see if they'd been disconnected.

"Nate would tell me what to do. How I should go about it. What technique to use. What he's seen in other forgeries or what he'd heard had been forged in the past. You don't. You just listen."

"Okay."

"Is it okay that I call you?"

"Yeah. Just."

"No, I know. Do you know Hoffman?"

"No," he smiled. "He's been dead for years."

She laughed. "So how do you know so much about art?"

"Nate has all these books around the office."

"And you like to read."

"I do."

"Do you like abstract art?"

"Not really."

"So, money being no object, if you could buy a piece of art, what would it be?"

"Hmm. I don't know. I'd have to think about it. You?"

"Oh, so many. I like Henry Pember Smith."

"Nice."

"You know him?" she laughed. "I know; he's dead. You know his work?"

"He does some really nice landscape stuff."

"I love his Venice work. Speaking of work."

"Yeah. Okay. Glad you called."

"I'm glad I did too. Eliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Have a good day."

"How do you know what time it is where I am?"

"I heard you subway stop called out as you got off the train."

She laughed. "I always underestimate you."

"Getting to be a habit."

"I'll work on it."

"Okay."


	8. Tunnel

"Yeah."

"Oh, we have a terrible connection. It sounds like you're in a tunnel."

"No, wait." Eliot fumbled for a bit, taking out his ear bud, shoved it in his pocket, then sat on a crate. "I am in a tunnel. Well, really a maintenance access hallway, but same thing. I have time."

"You do? Are you on a job? Do I want to know?"

"Yes, yes, no."

"Huh. Oh. Uh."

He waited, smiling. "So- you called me. Everything okay?" He finally asked after a long wait.

"Everything's fine. Sometimes I forget."

He waited again. His attention began to wander, looking up the cool, dark hallway. It looked like a hundred other hallways he'd been in.

"So, I was reading a book on the plane. A spy novel. And I wanted to know. Can you really break out of a jail with a tooth pick, three rubber bands and a cellphone?"

"Hmmm. Could this be used against me?"

She laughed. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically yes, although- you don't even need the toothpick or the rubber bands."

"Really?"

"So I've been told. Course we, uh, the hypothetical people involved just had two cellphones and maybe a paperclip."

"Huh. So, should I leave the book with the Brun's, too, Sebastian?"

He laughed. "No, I'm more a Popular Science/Sports Illustrated kind of guy."

"Really, all the issues or just the swimsuit?"

"Have you seen the Popular Science Swimsuit edition? Ew."

She laughed. "I better get back to work."

"Me too." He shoved the phone back in his pocket and the earbud back in his ear. He listened. Not much going on. Hardison was jabbering away about not being appreciated.

"Eliot, are you there yet?"

"I'm here."

"Any movement?"

"Nope. Not a thing."

"Okay."

Eliot could hear the chill in Nate's voice.

"Alright Sophie, you and Parker are on the mark."

"Right."

"And Eliot, after, you and I are gonna talk."


	9. Exes

He was sitting at an ocean side restaurant deck, his feet on the bottom rail, a beer in one hand when his phone rang. With his arm in a sling he had to put down the beer to get to his phone. "Yeah?"

"Where are you?"

Eliot looked at the menu. "The Surfside Cafe in Portside."

"Stay there. I'm on my way to you."

"Okay."

"How long has it been going on?"

"Say what?"

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you and my wife been…"

"Ex-wife."

Nate took a deep breath. "How long have you and Maggie been talking on the phone?"

Eliot cradled the phone against his shoulder so he could take a long pull on his beer. "I'm sure you've had Hardison pull my phone records, so I'd guess you know better than me."

"Months. You've been talking to my wife…"

"Ex-wife."

Nate kept on like he hadn't heard, "Maggie for nearly two months."

"Sounds about right."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

"Hang on a second." Eliot put the phone on mute and set it on the table. He looked up at the waitress and smiled. "Hi, darlin'. I'll take the seafood sampler, and my friend will take the surf and turf. Bring me another beer and him a Glenlivit when the meal comes."

"Sure. Dressing for your salad?"

"You have a nice house?"

"We have a strawberry balsamic."

"Sounds great."

He watched her walk away for a moment. The shook himself and picked up the phone again. "Where were we?"

"You want to tell me what that was?"

"No."

"Were you talking to Maggie?"

"No!" Eliot cradled his phone against his shoulder again, so he could rub his eyes. He dug out his sunglasses and dropped the phone. When he picked it up again, Nate was talking.

"…me what you two were talking about?"

Eliot sighed. "Nothing much; art, food, books, stuff like that."

"And you didn't feel the need to tell me?" Nate's anger was winding down. It was more like annoyance and curiosity.

"It just never came up in conversation."

"Seriously?"

"Sure. Eliot, take out these three guard, oh, and then jump on a plane for Ecuador. Sure, Nate, and by the way, your ex and I like to talk on the phone."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Nate, despite the weak connection. "Okay, okay. But there were times, between jobs."

"Honestly Nate. I just didn't know how to bring it up."

"Are you two…"

"No! We're just friends. I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know. She calls sometimes."

"Why? Why does she call you?"

Eliot blew out a breath. "Honestly, I'm not sure."

"And you talk about art?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"Why would she call you and not me?"

"You should ask her."

"I'm asking you."

"She says," he paused and took another sip of his beer, "she says I'm a good listener."

"And I'm not."

Eliot shook his head. "I'm not saying that!"

"So?"

"I wish you'd talk to her."

"She's my ex, Eliot, I can't talk to her."

"She says that you'd want to talk about technique and the best way spot the forgery and stuff and she just wanted somebody that listened." There was a silence long enough that Eliot checked the connection to see if he'd been dropped. "Nate?"

"Yeah."

"I just, you know."

"Yeah, well, I want you to stop."

"No."

"I thought you were my friend."

"I am, but I just can't."

"Why?"

"Cuz she's my friend, too, and she's the first friend I ever had that never asked me for anything."

"Okay."

"We just talk, Nate. It's nothing serious." There was another long silence. "Nate?"

"Yeah."

Eliot didn't like the defeated tone in Nate's voice. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't call her."

"Yeah, okay, Eliot, I'm hanging up."

"Okay."

Eliot finished off his beer and sat staring out at the waves. Nate slid into the chair next to him. "You can't, just, not take her calls?"

Eliot smiled. "No. What if she calls some time and really needs us."

"Yeah, I guess."

Just then the waitress brought over their order.

"You ordered for me?"

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe you'd join me. And besides…"

Nate waited.

"I need someone to drive me home." Eliot washed his pain pill down with the fresh beer.

"Yeah, okay. Seriously? My wife?"

Eliot shrugged. "She calls me, man."

"I know, but still." Nate took a sip of the Glenlivit and shrugged.

Eliot picked up his beer. "Women. They're all wonderful, but I'll never understand 'em."

"I can drink to that."


	10. Dinner Conversations

"Yeah."

"Hello."

"Am I on speaker phone?"

"You are."

"Why?"

Maggie groaned. "I have been on my feet all day." She let her suit jacket slip off her shoulders to the floor.

"Are you? I can hear… never mind."

She laughed. "I am standing in my kitchen, trying to decide if I should make margaritas, but I don't like to drink alone."

"Oh."

"I take it, you drink alone."

"On occasion, but not like that. Maybe a beer or two."

"Hmm."

"Am I being psychoanalyzed?"

"Not analyzed exactly."

"Hey, I was in New York. I got the Bola. Hell of a thing."

"It seemed like something you'd appreciate."

"Did you notice the engravings on the balls? One of 'em is a deer and the other is a bird."

"I did see that. You know it's not an artifact. They're local made, not relics, but in the style of the ancients."

"No, yeah. It's just, you know, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So why on your feet all day? I thought you had a desk job?"

"I do, mostly. But I was working with a gallery doing an installation. Mostly you stand around and watch people hang art and pray no one puts a nail through a canvas."

"Sounds…awesome."

She was laughing. "I take it you're not looking for a job as a curator's assistant."

"Uh, no."

"So."

The blender went off and Eliot squinted and pulled the phone away from his ear.

"Sorry."

"So, strawberry margarita or lime?"

"Strawberry."

"Toss in some mango. And then make mango chutney to put on fish tacos."

"MMMm. Except I don't have any fish or taco shells or mango."

"Shame. But now I know what I'm having for dinner."

"Wait. You haven't had dinner yet? What time zone are you in?"

"Uh."

"Are you here? In LA?"

"No, I'm in Portland."

"Oh, for a second I thought maybe we could have that dinner you promised that first date."

"I, uh, we had coffee."

"No, not that date, Dr. Sinclair."

He chuckled. "We did talk dinner, didn't we?"

"Yes, you did."

"Well, the next time Adam Sinclair is in L.A., he'll be sure to call you."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to heat up a frozen dinner and finish my margarita."

"Frozen, uh, and people call me a barbarian."

She was laughing when she hung up.


	11. Birthday

His phone rang just as he opened the door to the office/Nate's apartment. He was late, but still, he didn't think he was so late that Hardison should call and he was ready to snarl at him. "What?"

"Eliot?"

"Oh, hi," he paused listening as he opened Nate's door. "Are you okay?"

"I, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."

He was in the foyer, but he turned his back on the crew, shutting the door. Was she crying? "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Thirteen years ago. I was in labor, right now."

Crap! Crap, crap and double crap. Don't cry! But he only thought it and didn't say it. "I, uh, I." Crap!

"It's stupid, I'm sorry."

Eliot fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. He threw them hard enough that they sailed across the open space to hit Nate in the shoulder blades. Nate turned to give a what-the-hell glare and Eliot made a gesture to the spot right in front of him. "Get your ass over here" he glared at Nate.

Nate came over, hands wide, puzzled look on his face.

Eliot was torn. He hated when women cried. He wanted to go to her, hold her, but this wasn't something he could fix.

"It was an easy labor. Nothing about that kid was hard, you know. Five hours. Everyone told me, first babies, they take forever, but he didn't. Just…"

Crap! Eliot grabbed Nate's arm as soon as he got close and pulled him to his side so Nate could hear the phone. "Maggie, darlin'," God Eliot felt like there was a lead weight in his stomach. "Honey, I don't think this call is for me." He shoved the phone into Nate's hand and pushed him toward the stairs to Nate's upstairs apartment. He clenched his hands to cover his frustration. The rest of the team was looking at him.

"Briefing over. Go on, get out of here." He waved them toward the door.

"Eliot?" Sophie asked her glance going up the stairs.

"Go shopping. Buy shoes. Go on. Everybody out."

"But dude, I had a video and stuff."

"Right, good, out." They were moving, but not fast enough. He kept waving them on like he was herding cattle.

"Eliot?" Sophie touched his arm gently, and he jerked it back.

"It's just not a good time. Nate's gonna need some time." He slid his gaze to Hardison and Parker then back to her. "Just not now, Sophie, okay?"

"Sure, sure. Call me later."

He gave her a rueful smile. "Can't. Nate has my phone."

She gave him her soft understanding smile and patted his arm. Even though he felt like a traitor, to her, to Nate, to Maggie, this time he let her hand linger.

When the apartment was quiet, he sat on Nate's couch and flipped on the TV. It always took him three tries, or more, to get it off the computer function and onto the sports channel. He sat, quiet, his stomach queasy, his hands sweaty. Should he have handed Nate the phone? Did he just bring back way too many memories for the man? How was Maggie? Was this the right thing? Letting them talk to each other? Maybe he should have stayed on the phone. Listened. That's what he was supposed to be good at. Crap. Sophie was going to be furious with him. It wasn't like he was setting Maggie and Nate up to be together again. He flipped the channels. Maybe the next channel would have something. Something so he didn't have to think. Maybe the next one. 700 sports channels and he couldn't find a single thing to watch.

"Are you here to keep me from going on a bender?" Nate's voice was artic. "Did you hide the bottle?"

Eliot jumped to his feet, shutting off the TV at the same time. "No, uh, I, I." He stammered as he came around the couch. He didn't know what to say, he hadn't thought this through. They met in the open area near the kitchen. "I, uh, just wanted my phone back." He said the first thing he could think of. "I'm sorry, man." He meant it to be a brief guy hug. Two seconds, then get his phone and get the hell out of there. Nate went stiff. Hell, Eliot didn't blame him, he would have done the same. But then Nate had grabbed the back of Eliot's shirt in a death grip and hung on. One hand clutching, the other curled to fist, hitting Eliot in the back. There were curses and swear words and words that Eliot didn't understand mumbled into the side of his neck and he just hung on back. He wanted to say something, anything, to help ease the pain, but there was nothing, so he just stood still and let Nate come unglued. Finally, seconds, hours, years later, Nate pulled back. He looked away and Eliot did too. Give each other space.

Eliot moved to the kitchen, pulled down two glasses and pulled open the cupboard with the single malt in it. "You want food or just this?"

"Just."

"K." Eliot poured them both a drink. Nate stood on the other side of the breakfast bar. He held the glass in his hand, examining the amber liquid. Eliot tossed the shot back in one gulp. "I'll go."

"I wish you wouldn't." Nate sipped at his drink. "Maybe I shouldn't drink alone tonight."

Eliot wanted to say something, but he just wasn't good with words. "Okay." He refilled his glass. His stomach still hurt, and it wasn't all from the Scotch, but he'd stay. He leaned against the counter near the stove. He could do this. He could listen.


	12. Cora

"Yeah." Eliot rubbed a finger across one gritty eye.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Eliot. Can you come? The thing it … and it's spraying all over and it's a total mess and I'm so sorry to bother you, but Mike's out of town and I know I should be better able to handle stuff like this, but my dad used to do it and then Mike took over and then sometimes, you know, but …"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay." He was dog-tired, but he could hear the panic in her voice. "First are you okay?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes, sorry, I got a little crazy."

"Okay. You're all right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. Who is this?"

She laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't start with that, did I? This is Cora from McRory's."

"Okay, great." He shook his head. "Now, what's wrong?" He was going to kill Hardison for giving her his number.

"The beer line, somewhere, and it's squirting all over, and there's like gallons of beer and it's going all over the cooler and the floor and…"

"Okay, okay. I'll be right there." He took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog of 72 hours without sleep.

"I tried to turn it off, but …"

"It's okay. I'll be right over." Eliot went into his apartment long enough to change his shirt, brush his teeth and grab the battered metal toolbox he kept under the sink. He drove to McRory's bar, parking his truck out back and coming in through the alley. Cora was standing near the back door, a pile of wet towels at the doorway and the smell of beer heavy in the air.

She dashed over when she saw him. "I can't thank you enough. We run so short on the morning shift anyway and Nick, he barely knows which end of a screwdriver to hold on to, and tell the truth, I'm not much better." She grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze.

"It's okay."

She led him to the cooler. A steady stream of beer shot up into the air, the wall and floor foamy and wet. "At least it isn't the stout."

Eliot ducked under the stream, and started with the keg, but the valve was off, so he opened his tool box and pulled out a wrench and got to work. When he stopped the leak he checked the other kegs and replaced all the washers. When he finished he swiped at himself, but his jeans and the back of his shirt were soaked.

"What are you doing in my bar at 6am?" He looked to the doorway to see Nate leaning against the frame.

"What are you doing in the bar at 6am?"

"It's my bar."

"You don't own it. It's your local."

"And now it's your local? Have you signed up at the beer keg repairman's union?"

Eliot chuckled. "Nah, Cora said if I fixed the keg I could have all the beer I could catch."

"Well done."

"Thanks."

"I thought I told you to go home and go to bed? When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know. Wednesday? Same as you."

"No, I slept on the plane. Did you?"

"No, I don't…"

"Yeah, I know. So…" Nate ushered Eliot out of the cold storage and into the hall.

Cora was waiting for them outside, her eyebrows raised in question.

"All fixed. You're going to need to take an hour or so at some point and redo all the seals, but I've got it up and working."

"Oh, Eliot," she twisted a bar towel in her hands. "Thank you so much. My dad usually did all this stuff before he… and some of the stuff, I can't keep up on."

"Well, I can do it for you." Eliot picked up his tool box, trying to avoid Nate's frown. "I can do it tomorrow. I'll come in and change 'em all out, clear the lines and everything. It'll only take an hour."

"Oh Eliot, thanks."

He gave a grunt when she hugged him. "Make a list, if you've got some other stuff I can do." She hugged him a little tighter and he gave her a quick pat on the back, all the while looking at Nate. Nate gave him a glare, but it was all for show.

"Okay, I need to clean up in here." Cora pulled back, tossed her long hair over her shoulder, put her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage.

"Right, we'll leave you to it." Nate touched Eliot on the arm, getting him moving toward the door.

They left the hall and Nate steered Eliot toward the back elevator.

"Wait." Eliot stopped.

"No, you aren't driving home."

"But."

"No. You are exhausted and covered with beer. If a cop pulls you over, I don't want to have to break you out."

Eliot scowled.

"No."

Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but Nate cut him off.

"No."

Eliot scowled again and opened his mouth, but shut it again.

"Thank you for agreeing with me."

"Like I had a choice."

They entered the elevator and Nate pushed the button. Eliot spread his legs wide, locked his knees and closed his eyes. Nate watched. When the doors slid open, Eliot blinked his eyes open and moved forward.

"Did you just sleep, standing up, in the elevator?"

"Did I?"

"Interesting."

Nate unlocked his apartment door and waved Eliot toward the couch. "I'll get a pillow and a blanket."

"Okay."

When Nate got back Eliot was where he'd left him, standing very still, eyes three-quarters shut. Sound asleep, standing up. When Nate dropped the pillow on the couch, Eliot blinked.

"And now I know where the phrase 'out on your feet' comes from."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I brought sweats. Shuck out of those clothes and I'll get them in the washer."

"I don't want to put you out."

"You're fine. Enjoy the sofa. It's very comfortable. Be aware, the team will be here about 3pm."

"But I'm here, in your living room, where your TV is and stuff."

"I'm going to bed, too, and I have a TV up there, and don't worry about it. Get some sleep."

"Thanks." Eliot shucked off his soggy clothing, leaving them in a pile on the floor, got into the borrowed sweats, spread the blanket out over him and in seconds was sound asleep.

Nate waited until Eliot settled and then picked up the clothes. He went to the washing machine, and went through Eliot's pockets. The phone, a pocket knife, two US twenty dollar bills in one back packet, two fifty euro bills in the other and a handful of mixed coins were put on the counter. Nate glanced into the living room, but Eliot was out like a light. The man was dead-tired, and yet he had one more good deed in him. Very interesting.


	13. Shoes

The phone in Eliot's pocket vibrated just as the car speaker system rang. The chirp was Sophie's ring tone.

"How does my phone make your car ring?"

Nate shook his head. "Hardison would be my guess. Do you want me to answer it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Nate pushed a button on his steering wheel and Eliot heard a click. "Yeah?"

"You owe me."

Oh God, he so didn't want to have this conversation with Nate listening in. "Do not."

"Do to."

Ever since he'd given the phone to Nate the night Maggie called he'd been waiting for this conversation, he just didn't want to have it now. "Do not."

Nate was about to speak up when Sophie spoke. "There is blood all over my Jimmy Choo's. You so owe me."

Happily startled at the turn of events Eliot growled back. "Do not. I'm not responsible for where blood goes after I hit a guy. If you can't get out of the way..."

"Oh no, I was getting out of the way, you hit him my direction."

Eliot stammered. "I, what, you. I was a little busy. Quit being a princess and just wash 'em."

"Hey," Nate warned.

"You can't wash blood out of suede, Eliot, and ew!"

"You can wash blood out of anything," Eliot replied.

"I wouldn't think you'd know," Parker's voice came faintly from farther back. They must be on speaker phone in the other car. "I mean, I figured you'd just throw out what ever had blood on it and get a new one."

"I'm not gonna throw out a perfectly good jacket, shirt, whatever, just cuz of a little blood. Why are we having this conversation?"

"Because you so owe me."

"Do not."

"Do to."

"Do not."

"Do to."

"I'm hanging up." Nate hit the button and cut off the call. In the passenger seat, Eliot was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring out the side window. "Don't pout."

"I'm not pouting!"

"Then don't sulk."

"I don't sulk!"

Nate shook his head. "Well whatever it is that you are doing over there, knock it off."

"I'm not doing anything."

Nate resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, turned on his indicator and changed lanes.

Four days later the team met at Nate's to prep for a job. Sitting on the work console was a shoe box, white with gold lettering, that said simply "Jimmy Choo, London."

Inside, a pair of black and white suede pumps. Tucked inside was a small white card. "Do not."

Sophie hugged them to her chest and beamed.

"You replaced them?" Nate asked as he and Eliot moved toward the couch.

"Did I?"

"She threw them away."

Eliot's eyes twinkled as he gave a small smile. "I am a retrieval specialist."


	14. Lists

"Yeah."

"Nate told me to ask where you were."

"No he didn't."

"No. He didn't." There was a pause for ten or fifteen seconds. "He told me to tell you to get your ass back to the office."

"Nope, not that either."

"How do you know? How do you do that?"

Eliot smiled, but didn't let it show in his voice. "What did he really say?"

"He said for when you come back to the office to bring, hang on, I made a list, you got a pen?"

"Go on."

"Really, you're gonna want to write this stuff down."

"Go on, Hardison."

"Okay, he said to have you bring: galoshes, an extension cord, six red rubber erasers, a wrench, and a book on puzzle boxes."

"And?"

"And? What do you mean and?"

"There's got to be more, Hardison."

"No, that's it."

"What size galoshes? How long an extension cord? What kind of wrench?"

"Uh. Uhm."

"Come on, Hardison. The devil's in the details."

"Uh."

"Never mind, I'll call him myself"

"So?"

"What?" Eliot asked as he came in to the office the next day.

"Where's the stuff?"

"I gave Hardison the receipt so I can get paid back, but I gave the stuff to Goodwill."

Nate started the coffee pot then turned to face Eliot. "How'd you know the list wasn't for real?"

Eliot leaned back against the counter. "It wasn't vague or detailed enough for you. If you were going to be vague, you'd say something like "get stuff to build a jungle gym" or if you really wanted stuff you'd have given every detail down to size and color, so I knew it was fake." He handed across a book he'd had tucked under his arm.

"Mind games: More than 1000 puzzles for your mind and hands. Interesting."

"I thought you'd like that."

"Did you keep anything else?"

"Yeah, the red rubber erasers. It seemed specific enough that you might want them, and if not, I'm going to leave them around where Hardison can find them. Make him wonder what you're doing with them."

"Just to mess with him?"

Eliot grinned.


	15. Chutney

"Yeah."

"Hi Eliot."

"Oh. Hi." Eliot jerked the wheel to the right, parking his truck on the side of the road. He'd been waiting for this call. Not anxiously, but he'd been expecting it.

"Bad time?"

"No."

"I just wanted to call."

"It's been awhile. You okay?" He turned off the engine.

"I'm good."

"Good."

"You?"

"I'm fine." Eliot paused, listening. Seemed this call would completely ignore what happened the last time she'd called.

"Read any good books lately?"

Yup. Last call never happened. He could work with that. "I just finished one on Qin Shi Huang Di."

"Should I know what that is?"

"First Emperor of China."

"Oh, the one where they discovered all the terracotta soldiers."

"That's the one."

"Good book?"

"It was okay. The pictures were fantastic, but I'm not sure I agree with some of the conclusions, but it could have just been me."

"Oh, how so?"

"I was reading it in the original Chinese and my written skills aren't very good."

"Oh. Oh!"

He was laughing. "You were going to say something, weren't you?"

"No, I've learned my lesson."

"Okay, so you? Have you read anything good?"

"Really, you really read Chinese?"

He chuckled. "Badly, but yes."

"So," she paused then continued, "in your spare time you teach yourself Chinese?"

"Among other things. What do you do in your spare time?"

"Shop, watch TV, go to movies, the usual things." There was a long pause and she laughed. "Did you say something? Something about usual if you were a "girl"?"

"I would never say -girl." He was chuckling and she was laughing.

"So how long did it take to read the book in Chinese?"

"The first half took a couple of months. The last half not so long."

"Because you were better at reading, or because you skimmed it and looked at the pictures?"

He grinned. "It was just so damn boring!"

"Why didn't you just put it down?"

"'Cause my friend sent it and wanted me to read it and I said I would. Stop laughing!"

"I'm not laughing," she laughed.

"I'm hanging up."

"No, wait." She was still chuckling, but pulled herself together. "Before you go, I just wanted to say…"

He waited.

"I tried some mango strawberry chutney. It was very good." There was another pause. "Thank you."

Her voice had gone soft and he suddenly thought she was thanking him for something other than chutney. "I should have … you know, sent you some."

"No, you were… fine. All's good."

"Good, 'cause you know..."

"Yes, well, I should go."

"Okay."

"Good night Eliot."

"Good night, Maggie."

When the line went dead he looked out over the hood of his truck at the night sky. He felt like they'd settled something, and yet, not. He restarted the truck and eased out into traffic and headed back to the gym. He hated the uncertainty of calls like this. Was she thanking him for passing her off to Nate? Was he reading too much into it? Maybe she really liked chutney. Crap! He needed to hit something.


	16. Bud

The stop and go traffic was more stop than go. Hardison was driving, if you could call it that. More like parking in four minute intervals.

"Is there a big ol' accident up there or something?"

Hardison shrugged and tapped a few buttons on the dashboard display, but when it didn't give him the answers he wanted, he reached behind his seat for his laptop. Between creeping ahead a few car lengths at a time, he fired up the computer.

"At this rate we could walk home faster." Parker's voice came over the earbuds. She and Nate and Sophie were in the sedan behind them.

"Patience people," Nate's voice came over the 'buds. "It's not like we have anywhere to be."

"Okay." Hardison tapped a few more keys. "There is more than just an accident up ahead. Seems they are working on the bridge up ahead and a lookie-loo managed to jam his Hummer into a piece of heavy machinery and there was a chain reaction and a six car pile-up."

"Oh heavens," Sophie complained. "We'll be here the rest of our lives."

"Let's not exaggerate. Everyone on this bridge is in the same boat." Nate tried to be the voice of reason. His team, while wonderful on a job, sometimes had focus issues when bored.

"Well, if this were a boat with this many people on it, it would be a cruise ship and there would be things to do." Parker noted. "Or people would be jumping overboard."

Just then Eliot's phone rang. He looked at the display and took out his ear bud and stepped out of the van, but not before everyone heard, "Hey buddy."

"Is he allowed to walk on the freeway? Can we walk on the freeway?" Parker asked.

"Hey buddy."

"Uncle Eliot, are you coming to my birthday party?"

"I can't buddy, we talked about this."

"I know, but I hadda ask."

"Sure. Did you get the gift I sent?"

"It got here, but Mom won't let me open it until my birthday party."

Eliot grinned. "Well, that's the way these things are done."

"But Uncle Eliot, my party isn't until Saturday, and my birthday is on Thursday."

"I know, but you're not a kid any more, you can handle the extra two day wait."

"I know, but still."

Eliot walked the length of the van, and past the sedan. Sophie and Parker waved at him as walked passed. He gave half a wave back. The cars started moving, but he wasn't overly concerned.

"So where are you having your party?"

Eliot listened as his nephew describe the party plans, the decorations, the girl who was supposed to show, his two best friends who had already confirmed they would and every other thing the boy could think of to say.

Eliot turned around and walked alongside the slowly moving cars. He walked past Sophie and Parker again giving them another half wave. He was walking alongside Hardison's van as he finished up his call. "Okay, Bubba, I got to get going."

"Okay."

"Be good for your folks."

"I will."

"Okay, call me Sunday after church and let me know how your party went."

"I will. Bye Uncle."

"Bye Nephew."

Eliot had to give a hop, skip and a jump to get into the van as it drove down the freeway at six miles an hour. He settled into the seat just moments before traffic came to a halt again.

"So? Who was that?" Hardison leaned on the steering wheel and looked over at Eliot while Eliot put his earbud back in.

"Nobody."

"I never met anyone named Buddy." Parker piped up.

Nate shook his head. "I don't think that the caller was actually named Buddy, Parker."

"When was the last time you met a Buddy?" Sophie added.

"I meet my buddies on-line in WoW all the time."

Sophie shook her head. "I meant in real life."

"Hey, World of Warcraft is real life!"

Nate contemplated banging his head on the steering wheel.

"So, Eliot," Sophie purred, "are you going to tell us who that was?"

"No."

"Come on, buddy," Parker teased.

"No."

"It's okay guys, I can…"

"Hardison," Nate warned, but it was too late.

"I'm only going to say this once. If anyone, anyone, tries to trace that call, or find out who was on the other end, so help me, on everything you find sacred, I will pull your heart out of your chest and show it to you before I crush it."

There was a painfully stunned silence in both vehicles.

"Am I clear?"

A chorus of affirmations were made: "Sure, yeah, okay, not a problem. Didn't really want to know in the first place."

Nate decided to change the subject. "Who's up for I spy?"


	17. Knowledge

Knowledge

Eliot leaned against the wall and studied the departure board. When he was satisfied with his choice he dialed the phone.

"Interpol," said the voice on the line in a crisp British accent.

In an equally posh accent, one that would made Sophie proud enough to burst, Eliot replied, "I need to speak to the officer in charge of the Kentman gun running investigation."

"One moment please."

Eliot scanned the crowds coming and going down the concourse.

"Officer Sterling is not available, may I take a message?"

"This is Barrington Johnston-Jones. Tell him to call me right away. My flight leaves for South Africa in an hour and if he doesn't call me, the information I have will get on that plane and I'll deny ever having made this call."

"Yes sir."

Eliot hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Eliot, what did you do?" Hardison was standing just around the corner.

"Just making a phone call."

"To Interpol?"

Eliot just nodded.

"Does Nate know about this?"

Eliot just shrugged. "I'm getting coffee." And wandered off to airport café.

It wasn't twenty minutes later when the burner phone in Eliot's pocket rang. Eliot pulled it out and answered the call with a whispered, hissed, "Yes?" Hardison was still right beside him.

"James Sterling, Interpol. I understand you have information for me regarding Kentman?"

Eliot hung up without saying anything and then pulled out his own phone, entered the number and name and hit save. He then dismanteled the burner phone and tossed the pieces into multiple trash cans. He flashed a satisfied smile to Hardison.

"Eliot, what did you do?"

"I make it a priority to know where some people are at all times."

"I'm not going to help you keep tabs on Sterling."

"I didn't ask you to."

Hardison tried to read Eliot's face, but he wasn't seeing what he expected. Eliot looked kind of smug, and Hardison realized that Eliot had skills, skills he'd used to keep tabs on Moreau.

"Nate is going to kill you."

Eliot shrugged again. "Maybe."


	18. Fugu

Something's Fishy

The briefing seemed to be going on forever. Hardison was explaining money transfer issues in excruciating detail that made Eliot want to bang his head against the table top. Even Sophie had gotten up at one point and made popcorn. When Nate jumped in to tweak the finer points of time-zone applications to the monetary base Eliot started cataloging how many different ways the items within reach could be used as weapons. He was just up to using an orange to suffocate Hardison, Nate, or maybe even himself, when his phone rang.

"Yeah."

Nate paused in his diatribe to look at him.

"Hi, it's Michi. Are you still interested in learning from Sempai."

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"It's going to happen tonight at 6:30 at Bakauma. Can you make it? He's only going to work with six people."

Eliot checked his watch. Looking up he saw Nate glaring at him. "I'll be there." He disconnected the call and looked at Hardison and Nate. "Is this going to go on much longer?"

"It's very complicated." Hardison waved backwards toward the display behind him.

"You grab his money, you move it overseas, where it won't show up until the markets open the next day, then you send the info to the SEC, and a copy to the Wall Street Journal and the New York times, where it all hits the fan in time for the morning stock market." Eliot summed up succinctly.

"Well, yeah, easy to say, but not so easy to do."

"Okay, but you don't need me to do it, right?"

"What's up, Eliot?" Nate took a step closer. Annoyance mixed with concern clearly visible on his face.

"Just something I got to do in New York."

"New York?" There was more concern than annoyance this time. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No, it's good. I can get a flight out and be back in the morning, well, afternoon." Knowing full well a night in New York with Michi wasn't going to end at any reasonable time.

Sophie weighed in. "Eliot, are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need back up?"

"No. No!" Eliot nearly laughed. "It's just a … just," he sighed. He dropped his chin to his chest for just a moment before taking a deep breath, raising his head, then squared his shoulders. As part of a team it was important to share with each other, but as a loner it went against his very nature. "It's an opportunity to learn a new skill, one that takes years to learn. I can get a lesson from a master . So, you don't need me, right?"

Nate was already nodding. "We're good for a few days, but I need to know if this is connected to anything we are working on."

"Nope. I can't think of any way it would be."

Nate followed him to the door. "Just give me one word, one, that tells me you're okay." Concern had won out.

Eliot thought it over, words like 'Fine' and 'Good' coming to his tongue, but not past his lips. Finally Eliot gave a half smile and patted Nate on the shoulder. "Fugu."

"What does that mean?" Nate frowned and watched the door close. "Hardison. Google Fugu!"

"Oh, I know what that is," Parker helped. "That's a puffer fish. Are we going to poison someone?"

January 2012


	19. 19 Designs

"Yeah."

"I'm thinking of redecorating my house."

"I'm thinking of putting a big block in my truck."

"What?"

"I thought we were spouting off random thoughts?"

Maggie laughed and he smiled.

"I've been thinking of remodeling my kitchen. Painting and maybe redoing my counters."

"Okay, when does the destruction start?"

She laughed again. "I'm not where near destruction stage. I'm just going to the stores and looking at cupboards and countertops and things."

There was a long pause as Eliot thought this over. "Is this just an excuse to go shopping?"

"I don't need an excuse to go shopping."

"True enough."

"So, I've been thinking Mediterranean. White cupboards and granite countertops. What do you think?"

"Do I seem like someone that cares about interior design?"

"Honestly?" She laughed. "No."

"So what's your time frame? When do you want to start the destruction?"

"I guess that's up to the contractor."

"You're not going to do the destruction yourself? But that's the best part."

"Oh, I can just hear Nate now. He's always telling me how un-mechanical I am."

There was a long pause.

"You're frowning."

"Well, yeah."

"Tell me."

"You work with tools and stuff all day. You plan out gallery openings and do all that work with historical preservation and it pisses me off you listening to the voice of in your head telling you you can't do something."

"Eliot," she sighed. "Never mind."

"Yeah, right, never mind."

The silence was awkward. They'd never had a moment like this in any of their conversations.

"Well, I think I'll be going. I have lots of catalog to look at."

"Yeah, send a picture over when it's done."

"I will."

"Bye, Eliot."

"Bye, Maggie."

/

"Someone's trying to make up for missing Valentine's Day." Maggie's assistant commented as she came in to her office after lunch.

"Excuse me?"

"A delivery came for you."

Maggie looked over and saw a long white box, tied up with gold ribbon and beside it, a square shaped package wrapped in pale pink paper. She opened the little envelope and read the card. "Because I know you can do anything you set your mind to." It was signed: Dr. Adam Sinclair. She put the card down and went to the white box. Her assistant stood behind her, holding a vase, studiously pretending not to read over her shoulder. Maggie pulled off the gold ribbon and opened the box. Nestled inside was a sledge hammer, around the neck was a bright red bow. Down near the handle was a pair of safety glasses.

She couldn't help but laugh as she opened the square package. It wasn't a box of chocolates. Inside was a pair of books. Kitchen Remodels for the Beginner was on top, the other was a Mediterranean cookbook, each recipe came with a photo of the dish, laid out in a kitchen, as if someone was had just set supper on the table. She could see her kitchen in the photos. Some of the recipies had ingredients scratched out and marked over. Some had notes to add more or less. Some said "server with the recipe on page 9 or 12" written in the margins.

"I don't understand?" Her assistant picked up cookbook.

"I'm thinking of remodeling my kitchen."

"So he sent you sledge hammer?"

Maggie grinned. "He did."


	20. A bit of the Irish

"Yeah."

"Where are you?"

"Uh," Eliot didn't get a change to phrase his answer before Nate continued.

"I went by your place, you aren't there."

"No…"

"It's St. Patrick's Day."

He looked around at the tacky decorations of shamrocks and pots o' gold that lined the walls. "Yeah. kinda hard to not notice."

"They turn the beer green."

Eliot nearly laughed at the forlorn sound of Nathan's voice. "I know."

"The whole condo smells of corned beef and cabbage. Have I ever told you how much I hate corned beef and cabbage?"

"You have mentioned it once or twice."

"Can't go anywhere in the whole state of Massachusetts today without it smelling of corned beef and cabbage. I thought maybe your place… a good steak, some not-green beer."

"Sorry, man, I'm not there."

"I noticed." Nate hung up without saying goodbye.

Eliot put his phone back in his pocket and paid the cashier.

/

Nate's condo was dark when Eliot got there. He spread his bags out across the counter. Rifling through the cupboards he found the pots and pans he was looking for and soon he had the cutting board out and with a flip of his boning knife he got to work.

/

Nate pulled into the parking spots behind his apartment. He heaved a sigh and girded his loins for the running of the gauntlet that was the bar. He could have gone around, up the stairs at the side of the building, but he hated to let the revelry ruin his day.

He pulled open the door only to be assaulted by the smell of corned beef and cabbage. A trio of barely legal girls wearing plastic green bowlers and "Kiss me I'm Irish" t-shirts pushed past him as he entered. The entire bar was decorated in typical gaudy holiday fare.

Mike was working the bar and they shared a dismayed look over the yuppies and tourists that crowded the rail.

Nate had planned to stop and get just one shot of whiskey on his way through, but he decided there was a perfectly good bottle of Glenlivit in the shelf by the refrigerator. It wasn't Irish and it wasn't green and he was perfectly fine with that.

The smell of cooked cabbage was only stronger in the elevator. He pulled out the keys to his apartment, only to find the door already unlocked.

Eliot was on his couch, his arms spread out across the back, the remote in one hand and a beer in the other. The TV was set to have football on two of the screens and there was women's volleyball on the third and what appeared to be …"Is that caber tossing?"

Eliot laughed. "I can't figure out how to change the channels without losing what's on. I swear just when I figure it out, Hardison changes something and I can't do it again." Eliot tossed the remote and it landed on the coffee table.

Nate stared at the screens for a moment before shaking his head. He headed into the kitchen and paused at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink that hadn't been there when he'd left this morning.

"Hey, don't touch that!" Eliot shouted over his shoulder as Nate reached for the oven.

"What are you making?"

"You sounded kind of down on the phone. I thought you needed a traditional Irish meal."

"Oh God, tell me it's not corned beef!" Nate pulled down the scotch and came back to the couch. He picked up the remote before sitting down. "Are we watching amateur everything?" Now it was college basketball on one screen, and spring training football on the other, and the caber toss had been replaced with sprint car races. He guessed the only reason Eliot wasn't messing with the remote was the women's volleyball was still on. "Wait, is that last year's volleyball championship?"

"I told you man, I can't work the remote."

Nate hit a button on the remote and suddenly the screens all went black, then static, then a full version of the screen saver. He pressed a few more buttons and Eliot got up to check his food, took something out of the 'fridge and dug out a whisk and a bowl. He kept whisking while Nate kept pushing buttons until the TV came to life again. This time it was just one channel covering all the screens. Nate found the channel button and flipped through until he stopped on William Powell and Myrna Loy. "You seen this?"

Eliot shook his head.

"It's fun."

Eliot watched from the kitchen while Nate watched and read a book on Joan of Arc at the same time.

Just as the meat came out of the oven, Hardison came in the front door. "Mmm, man, does that smell good. I ain't had corned beef and cabbage since I was a kid."

"Well you still aren't getting it." Eliot shut the door on the oven and adjusted the temperature.

"Man!" Hardison groused only half-heartedly. "What are you watching?" With the flick of his thumb the Thin Man movie stayed up on one screen at the same time a Golf game came up on the other half.

"Seriously? Golf?" Eliot snorted from the kitchen. "Put the movie back on."

Sophie and Parker came in together. "Oh, Myrna Loy. Classic and classy." Sophie pulled off her coat and dropped it over the back of the couch.

"Do I smell apples?" Parker leaned over the kitchen counter to watch Eliot work.

"I made apple oat cake for dessert."

"How can you smell anything over the smell of cabbage?" Hardison queried, "Which we aren't having by the way."

"No?" Sophie asked and looked toward the kitchen, but didn't get up. "I thought it was an American Tradition."

Eliot passed Irish coffees to Parker who dutifully gave one to each of the team. "Dinner is in 10 minutes. Everyone wash your hands."

Nathan snorted a laugh as Hardison obediently got up and headed for the downstairs bathroom.

Eliot cooked often enough that they had a rhythm of setting the table, getting out the drinks, napkins and condiments. Eliot served up the leg of lamb and vegetables while Parker put out the soda bread.

Nathan stood behind his chair and looked at the table. "I would just like to say a few words of thanks." There were a few puzzled looks tossed Nate's way, but no one said anything. "Thank you, Eliot, for this truly traditional Irish meal which is not corned beef."

Eliot nodded. "But seriously, man, I make a great corned beef."

Nate glared but dug into his meal. "Let's eat."


	21. Texts

Texts

Eliot was standing in the farmer's market trying to decide between the eggplant and butternut squash. Neither was sparking his imagination when his cell phone started to ping in his pocket. It was the little warble for a text. No one texted him. He ignored it. But it didn't stop.

"Dude. You phone's blowing up." The teenage boy selling root vegetables laughed.

Eliot stepped away and hooking the canvas bag over his arm, he pulled out his phone.

He fumbled a bit on the message button and the first was a picture of Maggie dressed like Leave-it-to-Beaver mom in a nice dress, pearls and high heels. She was making a Vanna White pose and showing off her kitchen. Dark brown cupboards behind her. The next was the same pose showing off the harvest gold stove. Next the dark brown pantry.

He couldn't help but laugh.

The next was a picture of Maggie in coveralls and a baggie sweatshirt with a faded logo on the front wearing a ball cap, safety goggles and holding a sledge hammer, grinning from ear to ear.

Next: Hammer hitting counter.

It didn't seem to do much damage.

Next: Counter broken.

Doors off upper cupboards.

Pile of rubble on kitchen floor.

Doors off lower cupboards.

Bigger pile of rubble on floor.

Sink shooting water into air.

Close up of sink and geyser.

Plumber, crack and all, under sink.

Eliot was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

Kitchen dismantled. Wires from sockets, rubble in a mound.

Rubble cleared, nothing but studs and plywood on the floors.

The next was a picture of Maggie sitting at a small table, again wearing the nice dress and pearls, sipping from a delicate tea cup the empty ruin of her kitchen behind her.

Next: workman behind her putting up sheet rock.

Putting up light fixtures.

Then the Vanna white pose again. White cupbards, butcher block countertop. Extra large bay window. Electric blue tea towels, a wooden bowel full of fruit. Onions and garlic hanging in the corner

Maggie : Grinning.

A word text: The destruction was the fun part. I paid for the rest

He laughed. He bought sea food. He'd make Mediterranean in honor of her new kitchen.

November 2012


End file.
